


The Scent of Fear and Hope

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Werewolf Angst, background jily if you squint, lyall is a good dad, pre-wolfstar, set in a bar so there is alcohol mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22301272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Remus lives an unassuming life.He does his best to keep a distance between himself and the ones who could come back for him. He does his best to keep a distance between himself and the world that would condemn him for what he is.This new job seems good. But the further he runs, the more he comes to realise you can't keep a distance from yourself.
Relationships: Pre-Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - Relationship, Remus Lupin & James Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: RS Fireside Tales Vol.2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by:  
> The unnatural and strange have a perfume of their own. - Fernando Pessoa

With a sound of cardboard sliding roughly over concrete, the back door to the bookshop slammed shut. The man closed his eyes, inhaling and sighing in resignation before stacking the other empty boxes against the wall. He’d have to walk half-way round the block now to get to the front of the store, and he really just wanted to get the last of the rubbish out before his shift ended.

He stood and stared at the offending box a moment, knowing it was his own damn fault that he hadn’t wedged the door open properly. He took the moment to pull his phone from his pocket to check the time, but his fingers went slack and the gadget clattered to the ground as the memory washed over him.

The alley itself always smelled of stale beer and piss, but this was something different. His shoulders hunched in as he crouched and he felt like a child again, the reek of tobacco smoke burning at the back of his throat. He shuffled back, hand reaching for the wall behind him until his hand wrapped around the soft flannel sheets of his childhood bed and he tried to pull them over his head. His backside hit the ground as his boot caught on the curb and he saw the shadow through the blanket, the man’s breath a fetid mix of ale and cigarettes, his side hot with pain although it hadn’t happened yet. But it couldn’t happen (even though he knew very well that it would) because there were no monsters under the bed, there were no monsters under the bed,  _ there were no monsters under the bed… _

A siren wailed past the street at the end of the alley and he lifted his head to see a figure turn the corner and disappear into the foot traffic. “Come on, you’re not four anymore,” he muttered to himself with a shuddering breath, but the fear of that nightmare still felt like ice in his bones. Trembling fingers picked up his phone, running over the new cracks, more fractures in his life that he’d have to deal with eventually.

His keys jingled in his pocket when he patted his jeans and he was already typing an email of resignation as he left the alley and turned for his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

The scent of fresh parchment brings a smile to Remus’s face; the postcard to his father from his new London borough almost countering the guilt about not including a full return address. Not that Lyall would be upset, they both had their paranoias, but he still sometimes felt like it was a bit much to hide his location from even his family.

The room in the new flat was tiny, barely room for his trunk at the end of his bed, but his meagre belongings fit comfortably onto the wire clothes rack precariously balanced in the opposite corner to the door and his housemates were more than happy to keep to themselves. 

He’d gone to the wizarding post office to collect his mail, and the feathery musty scent of the owls clung to the parchment. His school room at home had always smelt of parchment and ink and the static-ozone scent of spells gone awry. Remus smiles at the memory of his father mending scorches, unTransfiguring misshapen teacups and helping him work through written problems.

_ The sound of his mother humming along to The Kinks record, Sleepwalker probably, as she waited patiently for him to finish his maths homework. He did his Muggle homework with his Mum and his magical lessons with his Da on the weekend. Mum always let him loose early from homework because she knew he had too much work to do. He was attending at the primary school in the village instead of being sent away to the wizarding school all the way in Scotland that Da had attended. They couldn’t really afford it, and he certainly couldn’t afford to be found out. Which is also why he never attended the closer wizarding school in the town down the way. Mum hadn’t argued with his Da over not being sent, but she had insisted on him learning how to control his magic and, seeing his talents with it, on him learning to use it well. Her work as a nurse pushed Remus in his interest in healing magics, and she encouraged him to be kind and understanding and to help people. _

The slanted handwriting on the letter is the same from the margins of his essays, and it’s as comforting to read now as it has always been. Lyall tells him of the changing of the vegetable beds and how Brynne from next door has a new batch of chicks and that his Nain has been asking after him. 

There was no expectation in the letter, just a kind exchange of information, for which Remus was grateful. His father often worried when he moved, but he had been clear in his writing that he had a safe place to change and that must’ve alleviated some of his concern. After over twenty years of dealing with the shift Remus was well versed in making it as trouble-free as possible, thanks in no short part to his Da’s care and preparation during his childhood.

The letter ended with an invitation to visit in the spring. Remus seriously considers it as he puts the letter into a shoebox in his trunk. It would be good to visit the house and his father, even if he didn’t go any deeper into the village, he thinks as he gazes out of his small window at the early setting sun. The winter was fast approaching; less than a handful of moons until the date, but more concerning was the scant days until the next full.

The neighbourhood street is empty except for a figure in a hood on the corner. They look about, glancing at the houses, and Remus’ eyes narrow. The person is dressed almost like a Muggle, but something about the way their jacket falls seems off.

They look straight at him.

A sharp tang of copper fills his nostrils and Remus jerks back from the window - he hadn’t even seen their eyes under the hood, they weren’t looking for him, no one was coming to find him - blood rushes in his ears and his throat clams up.

He sinks to the floor with his head between his knees as he forces deep, steady breaths. Minutes pass as he regains control of his heart rate, the adrenaline drop of the panic leaving him shivery. Crawling to the window, Remus peers back to the corner.

The figure is gone. 

He turns and sits, leaning against the wall under the window and rubbing a hand over his face. It was nothing. Those old paranoias making sure he was safe in the new flat.

He is fine. Everything is fine.

Remus takes a breath and stands. He had a job interview to get to. 

~*~*~*~*~

The pub is small and clean; carpet far less tacky than it should’ve been given the hard-working and, more importantly, hard-drinking patrons. Remus smiles at the man behind the bar, stepping in to stand next to the bar hatch and extending his hand hesitantly.

“I’m Remus,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “I emailed about the job…”

“Of course!”

The other man barely lets Remus’ sentence finish before replying and shoving his hand into Remus’. It is a strong grip, no nonsense although the grin on the other man’s face means, maybe, a little nonsense.

“I’m James. I’m the assistant manager, two-eye-see, so Tom’s let me in charge of hiring. Bad decision on his part, but if I get another decent person behind the bar then maybe I can get some more students to fill the seats between these old geezers, hey Doris?”

A woman with frizzy grey hair raises her glass and shakes it at James. “Maybe if you get a decent person behind the bar you won’t leave old women with empty glasses! See if I don’t tell your mother on you,” she smiles, nodding at Remus. “I like the look of him. Dressed all proper for an interview. He might even be able to keep you in line, I’ll wager.”

Remus looks down at his button-up and sweater vest with a frown as James leans across to take the empty glass, putting it into a washer rack without looking and grabbing a fresh glass to pull a cider for her.

“Tell my mum on me and I’ll tell her on you. You’re not supposed to be walking around without your stick and we both know it,” he says with that same grin.

Oh. Maybe not nonsense - that grin meant mischief. Remus decides he likes it. He takes a seat next to Doris when James nods to it, putting her glass down on her worn coaster and grabbing another glass.

“Okay, first test: what can I get you?”

Remus sputters a protest, he is here for an interview and he really doesn’t have the cash to spare on midweek pints, but with Doris nudging him on one side and James raising his eyebrows expectantly, he sighs.

“What’s the most local cask you’ve got?” he asks.

Apparently that is exactly the right answer because James let out a whoop and starts pulling from one of the traditional handpulls. “I  _ knew _ you had just the right amount of hipster in you. The last guy who interviewed asked for a Fosters! Can you imagine? I won’t even let Tom put it on tap. There’s only one regular I haven’t been able to get off it, but I’ll spare up a few bottles of space for it in the fridge if I must.”

Taking the pint with no argument, Remus takes a sip and nods.

“Wow. Is that double-hopped?” he asks as he swallows. Good beer is like good potions, and it is one of the few magics that had been easy to study from home. With the bite, his senses had heightened; he didn’t really have any memory of before then, so he’s just had to take his Da’s word for it. His keen senses made cooking a delight, even if it made eating out a minefield. And made him a little picky with his beer.

Okay, maybe he was a bit more than a snob. But he knows what is interesting and he knows what he likes. And apparently what he likes is good enough to possibly land him this job, if James’ grin is anything to go by. This could still be a good day.

~*~*~*~*~

Four hours later, he and James are deep in their cups and he is trying to convince himself he should really head home when the familiarity of the pub hits him. It was the candied peanuts on the bar that did it; the burnt buttery smell transporting him back to the small-town cinema. The same dusty, musty carpets, the same old wood furniture now almost more polish than actual wood after all the bums on seats wearing them away.

“It’s just like Buckled Can! That’s why I like it so much!” he exclaims, elbow most certainly not sliding off the edge of the bar.

Conor breezes past and smoothly slides both Remus’ and James’ pints further onto the bar. The man is James’ coworker and, thankfully, had started his shift the same time Remus had walked in. This left James free to run the interview and sample most of the beer selection with Remus. 

“What?” James asks bluntly, turning bleary-eyed to face Remus. 

Remus flashes an easy smile and shakes his head, “Sorry, the bar, I mean. It smells like home. The first place I got a job at in my village was the cinema and it just…”

He tapers off and waves a hand at the crowded room.

“It smells like home,” James grins back at him. “I get it.”

“It’s like… warm. But sunshine warm,” he tried to explain, failing miserably. He doesn’t mind. Both his and James’ mums are nurses, and they’re the same age. In another life they could’ve gone to school together. They’re getting along like a house on fire and Remus can’t feel guilty about getting a little sloshed with his new boss. 

This is going to be just fine.


	3. Chapter 3

Since leaving home, Remus has been very careful to work in Muggle establishments and frequent Muggle businesses. The uprising of homeopathy and naturopathy has helped a great deal in acquiring pure potions ingredients without having to venture into Wizarding London too often.

The Wizarding community is fairly close knit and he tries his best to avoid being seen. The last thing he needs is people to start recognising him and asking questions deeper than, “How is your day was going?” and, “What about that weather, hey?” and finding him out. It’s bad enough to be what he is, let alone that he isn’t registered. 

He manages to secure the couple of days around his first moon at the new job as his weekend. James shifts the roster a little to give him the midweek weekend and he can’t be more thankful for it as he drags his aching bones through the door. The shadows at the corners of his eyes haven’t entirely cleared since the day he came for his interview, but he has a safe place to change and a safe place to live. 

James looks up as he enters and flings his hands about in finger guns by way of greeting. He can’t help but smile. He has a safe and  _ fun _ place to work. He can make it through this shift.

The afternoon seems uneventful so far: Doris is in for her two pints, a dark-haired bloke stepped in and then almost immediately left when he realised James is on break, Tom hands over the reins and heads out to dinner with his wife.

By the fourth hour, however, Remus wonders if he hadn’t needed another day off. Surely that isn’t the faint purple opalescence of a Transfiguration on a pen behind the till? He lets himself close his eyes for definitely longer than a blink, thoroughly shocked. 

But the bar is rammed and he can’t take the time to think too long about it. A group of girls from the nearly university campus have crammed into a booth and they seem keen for a big night out.

“Can’t possibly be exams yet,” Remus says as he pours the fourth of seven ciders.

The tiny blonde - at the bar with only one of the others, how in the heck are they going to get all the drinks back to the table between them without losing half of them is beyond Remus - tilts her head towards the booth.

“Lily is freaking out about a boy so we’re here to get drunk and pull the piss,” she stage-whispers conspiratorially.

Remus knows Lily. More correctly he knows of her. The women are in the pub almost once a week and he might be chronically exhausted, but he has eyes and apparently so does James. Remus has at least once motioned to the mop in the corner of the bar to get James to stop his drooling. It’s even worse once they all leave, because then he can talk about her without them hearing him.

He puts the full pint down and grabs another glass.

“A boy I might know?” he asks, because what sort of friend would he be if he didn’t? And Marlene also has eyes and has borne witness to James’ complete inability to play it cool.

She doesn’t answer straight away; she grabs the four pints with incredible dexterity and lifts them easily off the bar.

“Now that would be telling,” she winks over her shoulder as she heads to the booth, nodding her head towards James as he stands at the other end of the bar.

Remus is so caught up in the drama of it all that he forgets about the pen until he’s almost asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He has to venture into the Alleys on his next day off. He managed to get himself just a little too deep for his body to heal on its own and he can’t exactly explain the size of the scratches to A&E. Most of what he needs he can scrounge from Muggle stores or by foraging, but Murtlap saliva isn’t really something he can just grab for the local co-op. 

Taking a deep breath before entering the Leaky Cauldron, Remus tries to settle his nerves. He’s been feeling uneasy all day, the necessity of visiting the Wizarding sector finally outweighing his hesitation to go again so soon. And that bloody smoke curling just out of sight as he walked zig-zags through London, the sense of being watched pushing his shoulders almost up to his ears.

Remus heads straight to the back of the pub, opening up the entrance to Diagon and navigating the uneven cobbles as quickly as he dares. He won’t visit Knockturn this time, he thinks, heading instead to the apothecary on the main street. The drying flowers in the window always remind him of his mum and he takes a deep breath of them as he steps in.

There aren’t many people inside but it’s still incredibly crowded; rows upon rows of bottles and jars and boxes of common ingredients. Anything rare or restricted is kept strictly behind the counter, and he avoids having to put his name down for those if he can help it. He hums Juke Box Music under his breath as he browses the phials. The smell of warm lavender from the storefront sends him back to Cardiff and shopping with Mum, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t and being told off with a smile hidden in the crinkle of her eyes.

He finds the spit quickly enough and fumbles through his pennies to pick out his knuts before heading to the counter. A quick exchange, a cordial smile, and he’s stepping back through the dried botanicals at the door.

He steps into the rare winter sunlight and the scent of her perfume turns sour. Remus darts his head down the Alley -  _ Why would there be disinfectant here? _ \- as citrus overtakes her sweetness and she’s lying there on the street. Cold. Still, as she will be forever now. It’s not fair for her to be gone before he’s even had a chance to be an awful teenager to her. The powder on her cheeks to keep them pink is a horrible whiff of talc and the grief rises in him as violent as it had when he’d stood at her funeral.

Remus starts as a dog bumps boldly past his legs, tearing his eyes from the mirage of his mother and chasing the wag of its tail as it noses into the Menagerie.

A polite cough springs him to action and he apologises as he steps out of the way of the store entrance. He lets himself pretend that it’s the weak sun warming his cheeks, forcing out a wet laugh at the thought that had popped into his head at the sight of the hound. 

“You’d find an omen in a leaf on a tree,” his Mum would tease. Not every black dog is a Grim. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few days later and the setting of the sun has turned his view out of the windows from the bleary grey clouds and store-backs to the vibrant reflections of the patrons in the pub. The rain outside is sheeting down, but inside the radiators and the beer are keeping everyone in good spirits.

Remus turns from the table he is clearing to give a wave as the opening door lets in a blast of icy air.

“No flirting on the job,” James teases, bumping his shoulder as he strides past to push the door properly shut behind the leaving group. He stares wistfully after the women. “How come Lily will order from you but when I’m at the taps she sends Marlene?”

His lip lifting in a half-smile, Remus ducks his head and shrugs. He makes his way back to the bar and unstacks the pint glasses into the washer.

“Maybe she has a crush back,” he teases, knowing it is true but that also James would never believe him. He’s chatted over the bar with Lily enough to know that her opinion of James has improved since their school days and even concedes that his taking a position near her university was a coincidence.

James rolls his eyes and steps behind him to open the till, taking out the tray and nodding to the side door, “That’s still unlocked, but we shouldn’t have anyone else in this late. We’ll close up when Phil and Rosie are done.” 

He grabs the card machine off the cradle and heads off upstairs to start the count. This time on a Tuesday night, no one is coming in off the street for a pint. And if they are? It’s only fifteen minutes until last call. Too bloody bad. 

Just as Remus is grabbing a cloth to start wiping down the empty tables, he hears the rasp of the side door over the carpet. Tom had to have a new weather fringe put on after the downpour the other week and it is too long, catching on the nearly-threadbare carpet. He looks up, face schooled into an apology for the lack of service before his expression drops. 

Remus has seen the bloke around quite a bit, but he’s always ducking into the shadows at the edges of the pub and disappearing like smoke when car lights swing around to the booths whenever Remus is on shift. It’s been unsettling, to have a regular he hasn’t actually served.

Now he has no excuse not to talk to him. He doesn’t know if that’s any better.

“Is James here?” the man asks, his voice silvery across the stretch of nothing between them and catching Remus by surprise. 

“Sorry, he’s upstairs with the count, so it’s just me. Guess we’re about as happy as each other about that.”

At the rise of eyebrows, he stammers to try and correct himself. 

“I mean- I didn’t-“ he wrings the cloth in his hands and tries to take back how the waxing moon has sharpened his tongue. “Sorry. I can dash up and get him, if you want. I just, I mean... you never stick about long when I’m here, is all.”

He turns abruptly, face flushing with the idiocy of his performance, and heads off to the office stairs. As he rounds the corner, the shadow that’s been following him since the bookshop graces his peripherals and he darts his head up.

It’s just the not-stranger, waiting for James.

The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as a chill runs through him. He punches in the code quickly and tugs the door shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Remus makes it through the second moon at his new job with little fuss. A few dozen moments of smoke and shadows, but he drinks the chamomile tea and eats the green vegetables and gets as close to the recommended eight hours of sleep a night as he can, and almost convinces himself that it’s just wild crows and city cats on the edges of his vision.

He sends another letter to his Da anyway.

He was bitten and left behind as revenge on his father. A year later, when the pack realised it might be useful to raise a child in the ‘family’, they’d tried to take him. Remus hadn’t known at the time, his parents keeping the reasons for their constant upheaval vague and blameless. He’d found out by accident, listening in the corridors of the hospital where his Mum was admitted only a few months after she started working there.

His shabby rooms in one of the busiest cities on the planet help him to feel anonymous, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying about them finding his Da again.

So he walks to a borough owlery rather than facing Diagon again. The letter is short and sweet; he manages to ask about Lyall’s safety without being too obvious about it and he knows that his Da will respond with something just as banal. They pretend that neither of them is worried and together they almost convince each other. It’s the only real lie between them and Remus can’t begrudge them that.

James waits until Remus isn’t limping anymore to tell him about Sirius. The regular/stranger is James’ best mate from school, apparently, but had a rough time growing up and he’s been having a rough time at work and he sends his apologies for being weird. Which Remus actually almost finds weirder, but given his entire life he figures he can’t really judge.

Sirius keeps coming to the bar, though, and stays when Remus is there. A flicker of starlight in the dark smoke that continues to flicker in Remus’ peripherals as he tries to keep his head down and his morale up.

Days become pleasant routine and the third month moves swiftly into the fourth. Between the staff and the uni girls and the regulars, Remus would almost consider himself well-liked. It’d be a nice feeling, if there wasn’t the ominous wariness of being pursued hanging just beyond the warmth of the bar. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

“I don’t talk much with M… many people,” Sirius says in an awful slip that Remus let slide. The barstool next to Sirius has remained empty all evening despite the pub surging to almost-full at the peak of the night. 

There’s still something off about the bloke, but he’s friends with James and he doesn’t turn tail the minute he’s made eye-contact with Remus anymore. They’re almost acquaintances now, if they both ignored the strange haltingness between them. Could be that they’re both wizards, even though Remus knows that Sirius doesn’t know that he is one as well. It’s a bit of a mindfuck to be sure, but he’s willing to play the bizarre game of charades to keep up the easy banter they’ve managed to strike up. Well, easier.

“Keep practicing then,” Remus says, taking a moment to wave Tom off with the tills and leaning back to ring the bell to tell the last few punters to hit the road. “You’ll get there.”

Sirius waits to be the last one to leave. He waves as he heads out into the cold night, stopping just out of the door to shrug into his coat. The way the jacket catches the wind jolts something in the back of Remus’ mind but he’s distracted by the sudden change of music as Tom plays some sort of awful experimental jazz.

He thumbs his nose at the security camera, hears Tom’s laugh from upstairs through the ceiling, and rolls his eyes as he starts cleaning up. He wants it done as quickly as possible so he can get as much rest as possible before tomorrow night.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The gentle susurrations of brushed snare drum overlaid with the warm twang of slide guitar and the slightly off-key fumblings of a live nylon-string brought Remus gently to waking.

Until suddenly he is not asleep at all.

“Fuck!” he exclaims. He bolts upright and flings himself against the wall, almost tumbling over as the bedsheet he had been under tangled in his legs on its ungraceful relegation to the floor. The room is an unfamiliar mess, very different to his own bedroom, and he thinks he can smell a cooked breakfast wafting through the… wherever he is… but the sharpness of salt on the air assaults him in an almost familiar way now.

Remus clenches his eyes tight and squeezes his hands to his head, shrinking to the floor as the salt of the bacon becomes the salt of the docks and his heart races. Sweaty palms grab his hair as he panics - did he hurt anyone? Did he bite anyone? Did anyone hear him or see him or recognise him? He was attacked on the way home from the pub, he remembers that much.

He fought -  _ Where is his wand? _ \- he duelled with far too little practice and -  _ Where is his wand?! _ \- there were two of them and his head throbbed -  _ Did he get hit? _ \- it pounded but he is pressing his palm to his temple so it throbs now too.

His head throbs as his heart thuds and he realises that he’s not in the cellar, he’s only just turned ten and he’s not in the cellar and it was the full moon last night  but it’s not the full moon until tonight and he shouldn’t be big enough to break the door but now all he can hear is the calls of the gulls and the clink of the chains that smell like blood in the air, if he’s bitten someone they’ll know he’s here and they’ll find him and they’ll take him and they found him last night on the way home from the pub and Remus realised there’s someone in front of him and they’ve found him…

Warm fingers wrap around his wrist. He tries to pull away and they hold gently but firmly, not letting go but giving him the space to flinch against the wall into a sliver of sunlight that breaks through the curtains.

The sun warms the wet chains of the fishing boats and the metallic tang in the air reminds him of the butcher’s shop on the high street and he hopes, he wishes, he prays that he can only taste steel in the air and not blood on his tongue. He’s too young to be a killer, finally two numbers on his birthday cake and now he’s a killer, he’s folks are going to have to move them again but he doesn’t live with his Da anymore and his Mum is safe in the ground at Llandysul and he’s twenty-fucking-three.

He’s twenty-three and he’s in London and there’s a thumb rubbing circles into his wrist and it smells like bacon and everything is okay.

Mostly.

He lets the man crouching in front of him pull his hand away from his head. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, pulling Remus’ hand until he’s holding it against his chest. The man is breathing deliberately, Remus realises. His first breath is shuddery and short but he feels the rise and fall of the breastbone beneath the soft cotton shirt and after a few minutes he’s able to follow. His wrist tingles where the man’s -  _ Merlin, it’s Sirius _ \- where Sirius’ thumb rubs against his skin.

Remus lets his other hand fall into his lap as he relaxes into the edge of the wall.

“Are you alright?” Sirius asks, watching him closely. Remus doesn’t think he has the energy to even try lying at this point.

“No. Yes.”

Sirius just watches.

“I’m not. But I will be.”

Remus closes his eyes and absorbs the sunshine and Sirius holds his arm.

He lets himself just breathe for a little while longer before he asks, “There were two of them?”

Sirius snorted. “Three. That’s why you copped it.”

“I ‘copped it’, as you say, because I’m an idiot who didn’t think he’d need to duel his way home from work in Muggle London,” Remus sighs, groaning as he stretches out to unwind his legs from what he now assumes are Sirius’ bedsheets.

“Were you playing the guitar?”

Sirius laughs.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Guess it’s not a good day for sensitive ears to have to listen to me fumbling off-key.”

Remus almost makes to flinch away again, but Sirius holds him steady.

“If I was going to send you in, I would’ve left you Stunned with the others,” he says softly, voice low like he’s talking to a caged animal. For the first time in a long time, Remus feels his instinct raw and ready, itching at the surface of his skin, begging him to  _ run, flee, get out _ . “I’ve been chasing down unregistered wolves for months, but-”

Sirius lets go of Remus and sits back, putting his own head in his hands. 

“You ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing?” he asks. His voice is weary and Remus knows exactly how that feels. “I left one questionable authority figure for another, and I think I’m onto a hat trick with this job. Aurors are supposed to make the world safer from criminals, not join forces with the Beast Division to hunt down people just trying to live without the bloody Ministry interfering in their lives.”

They stare at each other for long enough that the sun is almost against the opposite wall before they speak again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Come on!” Sirius urges him, pushing open the gate that had appeared at the edge of the property.

“You are going to get caught and we are both going to be arrested!” Remus hisses back.

The sky is already dark and the moon will be in the sky in less than an hour. Way too close, he thinks, for him to be so far from his cage in abandoned Tube tunnels to go on this mad adventure with a man he barely knows. 

Sirius bounds ahead of him as soon as the gate is latched behind them, calling out louder now that they’re in the magically-obscured gardens, “Come on!”

Remus has no idea what made him go along with this ridiculous idea. For all he knows, Sirius could be bringing him right into his worst nightmare. But looking around at the wide field, dark silhouettes of trees breaking up the shapes of the city beyond the Charm-reinforced boundaries, Sirius grinning like a loon as he stands with arms spread wide, Remus takes a breath.

“This is…” he starts, closing his eyes and breathing in again. Normally his pulse would be racing with anxiety but all he feels is calm. “This is incredible.”   
  


He opens his eyes at the sound of a soft thump, seeing Sirius on the ground tugging at his shoelaces.

“There’s a safebox just under those bushes if you want to keep your clothes,” Sirius says.

Knowing that he’s an Animagus almost keeps his heart rate from spiking, but seeing Sirius in his pants is not helping in the slightest.

“For the change. Or are you planning on heading back in the nude come morning?” He’s teasing. That tone is  _ teasing _ .

“You can’t possibly mean to stay-” he starts, and Sirius cuts him off with a roll of his eyes and by changing into a large black dog.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The change still hurts, but the night is an altogether new beast.

It smells like green. It smells like grass and moss and dirt and trees and fur and friend. It smells like hope.

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE THANKS to my prereaders who helped me to get this beast done, especially after a sync issue killed some motivation (along with about 500 words)
> 
> ((Also I'm awful at tags so if there's something I should add: please, please let me know!))


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